


A Spirited Christmas

by crackdkettle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Ghost!Steve, M/M, silly Christmas movie madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackdkettle/pseuds/crackdkettle
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been given a simple task: get the Bright Star Inn appraised and on the market before Christmas. Easy. Except the Bright Star is haunted—and the spirit inhabiting it isn’t happy about his home being sold.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers - Relationship, Riley/Sam Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101
Collections: Stucky Secret Santa 2019





	A Spirited Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the 2019 Stucky Secret Santa for [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti). It's based on one of my favorite ridiculous television Christmas movies, Lifetime's _The Spirit of Christmas_ , and in the tradition of ridiculous television Christmas movies, it doesn't make any sense if you think about it even a little. So please, turn off your brain for a bit and I hope you enjoy!

“Antonia Stark died over the weekend.”

“Good morning to you, too,” says Bucky.

Phillips rolls his eyes.

“Who are the heirs?” Bucky asks.

“Didn’t have any. Everything goes to the trust. Which is why I’m here. One of the assets is an inn upstate. The trust wants it sold before the end of the year so they don’t get hit with too many taxes.”

“That gives us less than three weeks!”

“More like two with the holiday,” says Philips grumpily. “That’s where you come in. I need you to go meet the appraiser so we can get it on the market.”

“Today?”

“You have something better to do?” Phillips snaps. “It’s just a day-trip. All the information is in your email.”

“Okay, guess I’m heading out,” says Bucky, standing.

“Good,” says Philips. “Be nice to the appraiser.”

“I’m always nice.”

“I’m serious, Barnes. It took me almost a dozen tries to find one who’d agree to do it.”

Which means it took his assistant almost a dozen tries, but Bucky elects not to point that out.

“Why’s that?” he asks warily instead.

“Apparently the locals think the place is haunted.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I’ll be sure to bring my iron cross, then,” he says.

Phillips grunts a laugh.

“Knew I could count on you, Barnes,” he says. “Have a good trip.”

\-----

Bucky gets to Bright Star Inn just in time to intercept the appraiser as he sprints for the parking lot.

“Hey,” says Bucky, scrambling out of his car and following. “George Lechuga? I’m Bucky Barnes from Erskine-Philips. I think we have a meeting?”

“Not anymore!” Lechuga yanks open his car and practically dives inside.

“Wait!” cries Bucky. “Should I call your office to reschedule?”

“Oh I’m not coming back, buddy! And you should get out of here too if you know what’s good for you!”

“What do you—?” Bucky starts, but Lechuga is already tearing away with a squeal of tires. 

Perplexed and irritated, Bucky trudges up the lane to the inn.

“Hello?” he calls as he opens the front door.

“May I help you?” A good-looking guy around Bucky’s age pokes his head out of what looks like an office.

“Uh, yeah, I’m with Erskine-Phillips,” says Bucky. “I’m here to get the inn appraised for the Stark Trust.”

“You just missed your appraiser,” says the guy with a slight smirk.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty spooked,” says Bucky.

“They all are,” says the guy. He holds out his hand. “Sam Wilson. I’m the manager of this place. For now, anyway.”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Well, Bucky Barnes, I’d offer you a room but I’m actually just wrapping up closing for the holidays.”

“Closing?” Bucky repeats. “For the holidays? Isn’t that peak time for places like this?”

“Yeah, well, it’s tradition,” says Sam.

Bucky frowns, but decides to blow past this in favor of a more relevant question: “What spooked my appraiser?”

Sam shrugs. “Probably the ghost.”

Bucky snorts. “Right, the famous Bright Star ghost. Must be pretty freaky.”

“Steve’s never hurt anyone,” says Sam seriously, “but he can be intimidating when he wants to be. He doesn’t like change. Or too much company.”

“Must love living in an inn,” Bucky mutters. He frowns. “Steve?”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” Sam gestures to an old black-and-white photo hanging on the wall. “He owned this place about a hundred years ago.”

“Ohh-kay. Well do you know of any appraisers who won’t be intimidated by _Steve_?”

“Not off the top of my head. Sorry you’ve wasted the journey,” says Sam in a way that makes it clear the conversation is over.

“I haven’t,” says Bucky. “I’m not going back to my office without a quote.”

“Right,” says Sam. “So you’re just gonna…?”

“Stay here until I find somebody who’ll give me one,” says Bucky firmly.

“Stay _here_?” Sam repeats incredulously.

“This is an inn, right?”

“Yes,” says Sam slowly. “But like I told you, we’re closed. The staff left this morning, and I’m about to head out myself.”

“Well, I have a set of keys from the trust, so I guess I’ll just be here on my own.”

“With Steve.”

“Sure,” says Bucky with an eye roll. “I promise not to trash the place.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“You can always stay with me,” says Bucky, though he hopes Sam won’t take him up on it. The guy believes in ghosts.

“No, no,” says Sam. “Tomorrow’s the thirteenth. I’m always out of here before the thirteenth.”

“Why?” Bucky ignores the uneasiness creeping over him. It’s ridiculous. Ghosts aren’t real.

“Come here, I’ll show you how to set the alarm,” says Sam, which Bucky notices isn’t actually an answer. “Then you’re on your own.”

“With Steve,” says Bucky sarcastically.

“With Steve,” Sam agrees seriously.

\-----

Luckily Bucky brought his laptop and the inn has wifi, so he’s able to get some work done that evening. He also finds the numbers for a few more appraisers, though he’ll have to wait until morning to call since their offices are already closed for the night.

He set the alarm as soon as Sam left, since outside intruders seem a much more likely threat than ghosts. Still, Sam’s warning left him spooked enough to do a sweep of the entire place before he goes to bed, but of course it’s empty and quiet.

Which is what makes the _thump_ that wakes him up at midnight so terrifying. He stays in bed, listening, and has just convinced himself that he dreamed the whole thing when he hears the unmistakable sound of someone on the stairs.

_Ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real._

_Yeah, but robbers are, dumbass,_ the more practical part of his brain reminds him. He heaves himself out of bed and creeps out of his room, picking up a heavy brass candlestick from the bureau on his way, holding it up like a club, ready to strike.

He pauses at the top of the stairs. There’s a light coming from what he thinks is the lounge. He starts to take a cautious step down—

—but his socked foot slips on the polished wood and he tumbles down the stairs, cracking his head on the bannister as he goes. The last thing he sees is a shadowy silhouette looming over him before he blacks out.

\-----

He wakes up on a couch in the lounge with a quilt draped over him, light pouring in the windows, and the sound of someone playing _God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen_ on the piano drifting in from the hall.

“The hell?”

He rolls himself off the couch and regrets it. He feels like he was hit by a truck. He gingerly fingers the sore spot on the back of his head. It’s not crusty, so he guesses there wasn’t any blood. That’s good, right? He sees his phone lying on the floor and scoops it up instinctively before he stumbles into the hall, clutching the quilt around his shoulders.

The music stops mid-bar.

“Good, you’re awake,” says a tall, shockingly-toned blond guy, rising from the piano. “That means you can leave.”

“Um, excuse me?” says Bucky, still sleep-addled and completely thrown by how shamelessly this guy has broken and entered.

“You’re trespassing,” says the intruder.

“ _You’re_ trespassing,” says Bucky, but it comes out uncertain. This guy is so confidant. This is that gaslighting thing everyone talks about, isn’t it? How hard did he hit his head?

“A man cannot trespass on his own property. Now I must ask you leave at once.”

“Are you a trustee?” He can’t be. He’s too young. Bucky rubs the back of his head, instinctively avoiding the new sore spot. He must have hit it harder than he thought. Maybe this guy isn’t even real.

The man immediately proves him wrong by stepping forward, grabbing Bucky’s upper arm, pulling him to the front door, yanking it open, shoving Bucky onto the front porch, and slamming the door in his face.

Well, that clears up one thing: He’s definitely not a ghost.

\-----

The sheriff arrives in under ten minutes, which is either admirable efficiency or proof there’s nothing going on in this town. Possibly both.

“Sheriff Riley Rushman,” he says, shaking Bucky’s nearly numb hand. “You want to come in with me while I take a look around, or you want to wait out here?”

“I’ll go in with you,” says Bucky, mostly because it’s warmer in the house and the boots he found on the porch are too small and pinching his toes.

Rushman does an entire sweep of the house but, like Bucky the night before, finds nothing and no one.

“Probably slipped out the back when he saw me coming,” he says with a shrug. “Unless… you know about the ghost, right?”

“It wasn’t a ghost! He was solid!”

“Well, then I’d advise you to lock up and set the alarm when I leave.”

“The alarm _was_ set,” says Bucky, annoyed. He’s not an idiot. “I told you that on the phone.”

“Of course.” It’s obvious Rushman doesn’t believe him. “Well, just double-check this time, okay?”

“Fine.” It’s not worth arguing over.

Bucky sees Rushman to the door and locks it behind him (the asshole actually pauses on the porch to make sure Bucky does). Then he turns around to go set the alarm and—

“ _Shit!_ ”

“I also know the alarm code,” the blond intruder says, hitting the _set_ button and turning to Bucky with a shit-eating grin.

“What the hell, man?” Bucky demands, too irritated at the moment to be afraid.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d just go like I’ve asked.”

“Why would I? Who _are_ you?”

“I’m Steve,” says the man, as if this should be obvious.

Bucky can’t help it: he actually laughs. Just full-on giggles. It’s too ridiculous.

“Steve? As in, Steve-the-ghost?”

“I don’t love that term.”

“Yeah, no offense, but you don’t seem very ghostly, man.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Uh-huh, well—” Bucky cuts himself off as the alarm starts beeping. Even Steve seems startled.

“Am I interrupting?”

“You!” Bucky cries. Sam Wilson has entered the hall from a side door. He steps around Steve and punches in the alarm code, silencing it.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve says, in a much kinder tone than he’s used with Bucky. “Been awhile. You look good.”

“Obviously,” says Sam. “And you look the same.”

“Obviously,” says Steve, a corner of his mouth turning up.

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Bucky snaps.

“I did warn you,” says Sam.

“About a ghost!” says Bucky. “This—” he pushes against Steve’s surprisingly muscular shoulder “—is not a ghost!”

“Right now,” says Sam.

“I have a name, you know,” says Steve. Bucky ignores him.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Most of the year I’m in spirit form,” says Steve. “What you would think of as a ‘ghost’. But for twelve days in December I take corporeal form.”

“Corporeal form,” says Bucky. “Right. Why not.”

“I’ll prove it!” says Steve, incensed.

Bucky folds his arms across his chest. “How?”

Lightning fast, Steve grabs hold of Bucky’s elbow in a vice-like grip and propels him out the front door, across the front drive, and down a snow-covered path toward the woods, finally coming to an abrupt halt at a gap in the fence at the edge of the woods.

“What does this prove?” says Bucky, nonplussed.

Instead of answering, Steve releases Bucky’s arm and takes his hand, his grip gentle and surprisingly warm. He takes a step back so they’re pulling against each other, arms nearly taut.

“What—”

“Watch,” says Steve firmly. He takes another step backward, through the gap in the fence—

and vanishes, and Bucky, suddenly without anything to counterbalance him, falls flat on his ass.

“Okay,” he mutters as he scrambles to his feet, brushing the snow off his pants, “ghosts are real, and they’re assholes.”

Or maybe just this one is.

\-----

Sam is waiting for him on the porch when Bucky gets back to the inn.

“He pull the disappearing act on you?”

Bucky nods.

“Yeah, that’s how he convinced me too,” says Sam.

“How long have you known?” Bucky asks as he follows Sam into the sitting room.

“I met Steve about ten years ago. I made the mistake of staying through the thirteenth. He scared the shit out of me.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “He likes to be alone, but I try to check in with him at least once every year. Drop off some groceries, that sort of thing.”

“Groceries? Ghosts need to eat?”

“No, but if you couldn’t eat 95% of the time, wouldn’t you want to when you got the chance?”

“I guess,” says Bucky. “So he always manifests on the thirteenth?”

“The thirteenth through the twenty-fourth,” says Sam, nodding.

“Why?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Haven’t you tried to figure it out?”

“Once,” says a voice behind him. Bucky whirls to see Steve standing in the doorway.

“Dude, you have to stop doing that.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Howard and I tried to solve the mystery of my existence the first few years, but it was no use. I accepted my fate long ago.”

“And Howard is…?”

“My cousin,” says Steve shortly. “Once Howard fully understood my condition, he began closing the inn during my corporeal period.”

“But he didn’t fully understand your condition,” says Bucky, more to himself than to Steve. “Neither do you. That must be why you can’t move on.”

“And what would you know about it?” snaps Steve. “Half-an-hour ago you were insisting spirits weren’t real.”

“Yes, but now I know differently,” says Bucky. “And I’ve seen movies.”

“The veracity of which is unparalleled, I’m sure,” says Steve sarcastically.

“Ghosts hang around because they have unfinished business,” Bucky persists.

“I don’t have—”

“Steve, the situation’s changed, man,” Sam cuts in gently. He gives Steve a wry smile and a small shrug. “The inn _will_ be sold. I don’t think the new owner’s gonna be as accommodating of a ghost taking over the place during peak season as your cousin’s kid, do you?”

Steve lets out a long breath, and all the fight seems to expel from him with it. He rubs a hand across his face.

“Fine,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

\-----

It’s a pretty straightforward story. Steve ran the inn with his cousin Howard. The Depression hit them hard, just like it hit everywhere else. And when they started to go under, well, they turned to the one surefire way to make money in 1930.

“You were a bootlegger.”

“We called them _rum-runners_ ,” says Steve. “And no, _I_ wasn’t. Howard was. He did it a few times before I caught on. I was furious, but I understood. If we shut down, we put ten employees out of work. Ten families at risk. And Howard had a wife and a newborn daughter to support. I might have been able to excuse it… if he hadn’t dragged Peggy into it.”

“Peggy?”

“Peggy Carter. My fiancée. She was doing runs too.”

“And you felt betrayed,” says Sam softly.

“What they were doing was dangerous! The criminals who ran those networks…. I made Howard tell me where I could find the head of the organization, a man called Zola. I took everything we could spare and went to see him.”

“Without telling Peggy?” Bucky guesses. He wonders if Steve sees the irony.

“I returned Zola’s money and told him my family was done running for him,” Steve continues, ignoring the question. “He agreed on one condition: that I do one last run for him.” He shakes his head. “I never made it home.”

“His body was found at the edge of the grounds Christmas morning,” Sam cuts in. “Head wound.”

“It was my own hubris,” says Steve bitterly. “If I’d trusted Peggy…”

“What did she have to say when you turned up… like this?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing,” says Steve flatly. “She died a few months after I did. Some kind of fever.”

“Well maybe that’s your unfinished business.” It seems obvious.

“Sucks if it is, because I don’t know how we’re supposed to wrap that up now,” says Sam. “Seems like they could have hashed that out in the ghost world by now.”

“It’s not that,” says Steve. “I told you, this isn’t about unfinished business. It’s simply… my curse.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. This guy is so melodramatic.

“We probably just missed something. Let’s walk through it again, in detail this time. Unless you have something more pressing to do,” he adds pointedly, when Steve narrows his eyes.

Steve sighs.

“It all started with the Great Crash…”

\-----

“How’s your head?” Steve asks, as he and Bucky begin locking up after Sam has left for the night. “You, uh, had a pretty bad fall last night.”

“Just bumps and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal.” He gives Steve a half-smile. “You know, I wouldn’t have even been here last night if _someone_ hadn’t scared off my appraiser.”

“My apologies,” says Steve. “I’m not always in control when I’m… like that. Sam did mention you were supposed to be here for only the day.”

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Still, I’m sure you’re anxious to get home, especially this time of year,” says Steve. “Your wife—”

“I don’t have a wife,” Bucky cuts in.

“Oh, of course, I’m so sorry: your husband?”

“Don’t have one of those either,” says Bucky. “But it’d be more likely.” He frowns. “Wait, you know about—”

“I’m dead, I’m not ignorant,” says Steve shortly. “So who do you have waiting at home?”

“No one,” says Bucky, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Growing up it was just me and my mom, but she… died, a few years back.”

“I’m sorry,” says Steve.

Bucky shrugs. “It happens.”

He doesn’t want to talk about his mom, which maybe Steve can sense, because he asks, “And you’ve never been in love?”

“I never said that,” snaps Bucky, but he softens at Steve’s look of contrition and adds, “But no. Not like you.”

Steve looks like he wants to say something, but after a brief pause he merely nods.

“I’ll say goodnight,” he says. “Be careful on the stairs.”

“Definitely,” says Bucky. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He climbs the stairs slowly. As he reaches the top, a door creaks loudly and he could swear he sees a silhouette at the end of the hall. But a quick look over the balustrade shows him Steve is still in the hall, carefully straightening a picture.

He practically sprints to his room and slams the door behind him.

 _Paranoid,_ he tells himself as he leans against it, breathing hard. _You’re just being paranoid._

But he still wedges a chair under the knob before he gets in bed.

\-----

As soon as he steps out of his room the next morning, the damn doors start again. It’s eerie. Bolstered by the light of day, Bucky heads toward the creaking. There must be a draft or—

All three doors at the end of the hall slam shut simultaneously, and Bucky just about jumps out of his skin. Still, it could be—

One of the doors starts swinging slowly open again.

Nope, nope, nope! Bucky backs up, shouting as he goes.

“Hey, Steve, knock it off, man!”

Another creak, this time above him. Hasn’t Sam heard of WD-40?

Letting his irritation override his fear, Bucky climbs to the third floor and throws open the door at the top of the stairs—

where he finds a very shirtless, very pantsless, very _toned_ Steve Rogers, gazing at him in surprise over an antique ironing board.

“Whoa, um, sorry,” says Bucky, flushing and whirling around at once. “Sorry,” he repeats to the wall. “I didn’t think you’d need to, um, change—”

“It’s fine,” says Steve, a grin in his voice. “I thought I should make an effort since I have company.” There’s a rustle of fabric. “You can turn around now.”

Bucky pivots slowly to find Steve buttoning up his shirt, pants buckled securely around his waist.

“What brought you up here?” Steve asks, giving Bucky a small smile.

“What?” says Bucky blankly, then remembers. “Oh, I was looking for you. I wanted to ask you to knock it off with the doors.”

“The doors?” Steve looks pleasantly bemused.

“Slamming the doors at the end of the hall?” says Bucky. “Opening them all slow and creepy? It’s not funny, man.”

The smile slides right off Steve’s face. “That isn’t me.”

“Right, must be the other ghost who—”

“Bucky,” says Steve seriously, “it isn’t me. Even if I wanted to, which I assure you I don’t, I don’t have those kind of powers when I’m in this form.”

Well that’s not good.

“So there is another ghost?”

“I’ve never seen one,” says Steve. “But if you’re experiencing… hey, uh, stay near me while you’re inside today, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” says Bucky, though he’s touched against his will.

“Of course you can,” says Steve. “But I’d like to see this new phenomenon myself, and it seems like it’s only happening around you.”

“Oh.” Now Bucky feels like an idiot. “Right. Okay.”

“Anybody home?” Sam’s muffled voice floats up from two stories below.

“Just a minute!” Steve calls back. He gestures for Bucky to precede him out of the room and Bucky does, trying to mask his irritation.

Downstairs they find Sam deep in conversation with a redheaded woman who looks vaguely familiar.

“Finally,” says Sam, cutting himself off mid-sentence. “Nat, this is the guy trying to sell off my livelihood.”

“Just doing my job,” says Bucky, shaking the woman’s hand. “Bucky Barnes, attorney for the Stark trust.”

“Natasha Rushman. I think you met my brother yesterday. Any more intruders?”

“That’s why you look so familiar! Nope, all good. Intruder free!”

“So who’s this guy?”

Bucky’s eyes meet Sam’s, which mirror his own thought: _Shit!_

“Steve,” says Steve smoothly, stepping around Bucky and taking Natasha’s hand. “A pleasure, madam.”

“Okay,” says Natasha. “Likewise, I guess.”

“He’s joking,” says Sam. “You’re joking,” he tells Steve.

“Right,” says Natasha. “But who exactly are you?”

“He is…” Bucky starts and immediately draws a blank.

“I’m Bucky’s beau.”

“His _beau_?”

“My what?” says Bucky, dumbfounded.

“His _boyfriend_ ,” Sam jumps in. “Steve is Bucky’s boyfriend.”

“Yes, exactly,” says Steve.

“I thought you told Riley you were alone.” Natasha is frowning at Bucky.

“That’s right,” says Bucky faintly.

“After he told me about the break-in, I felt it would be best for me to come here and protect him,” says Steve, eyes wide with sincerity, but when Natasha glances away from him, he shoots Bucky a smirk.

Bastard.

“That’s very sweet.” Natasha sounds more amused than heartwarmed.

“So sweet,” agrees Sam, not even bothering to hide his own grin.

“Yep, that’s my Steve,” says Bucky through gritted teeth, pasting on the biggest smile he can manage. “So. Thoughtful.” He puts an arm around Steve and punctuates the words with a couple _firm_ pats on his chest. Of course, it’s so toned he doubts Steve registers the aggression.

“Well, as fun as this is, I didn’t come here on a social call,” says Natasha. “I’m actually hoping you boys will do me a favor.”

“Name it,” says Steve gallantly.

“Uh, let’s hear what it is first, _honey_ ,” Bucky mutters.

“The pipes in my pub burst last night and it’s gonna take a few days to repair,” says Natasha. “Normally I’d cut my losses, but it’s the pub’s annual holiday party tonight. I know this place is always empty this time of year, so I thought maybe I could host it here?”

“I don’t think—” Bucky starts.

“I have all the supplies and staff,” says Natasha quickly. “I just need a space. Please, Sam?”

“Of course you should have your party here,” says Steve. Bucky pulls away from him, astonished. “It’s been far too long since Bright Star hosted something for the village.”

Natasha frowns at him. “How do you—?”

“I mentioned it,” says Sam quickly. “And he’s right, of course we’ll be happy to host you. Just tell us what to do to make it happen.”

“Thank you!” says Natasha. “I’ll be back to set up this afternoon. And Sam, I promise to bring my brother to really make it worth your while.” She winks.

“I’m gonna pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Sam. “Come on, show me what furniture you want moved around.”

“My _beau_?” Bucky hisses at Steve as soon as he’s sure Sam and Natasha are out of earshot.

Steve shrugs, grinning. “It seemed the obvious cover.”

It was, but Bucky’s not about to admit that.

“You know if half the village shows up here, there’s a good chance someone will recognize you,” he says instead.

“It’s been almost a hundred years.”

“We should still take down the picture of you.”

“If it makes you feel better.”

“And I guess I should get us a tree,” Bucky adds. “If we’re going to have a Christmas party here.”

“I’d offer to go with you,” says Steve, “but…”

“You’re tied to the property,” says Bucky. “I remember. Tell Sam I’ll be back in a bit.”

\-----

The parking lot is empty when Bucky comes back an hour later, and the first floor of the inn is deserted.

“Hello?” he calls up the stairs. “Steve? I could use a hand down here!”

There’s silence, except for the low whistle of wind at the top of the stairs. It sounds like someone left a window open.

“Steve?” Bucky calls again as he mounts the steps. “I know you have to be here somewhere, man.”

The wind grows louder. Bucky follows it to an open door at the end of the hall. But when he steps inside, the sound abruptly dies. The lone window is shut and locked.

Behind him, the door slams shut.

Oh hell no!

He pushes down the handle and yanks, but the door is locked.

“Steve!” he bellows, pounding on the door. “Steve, it’s not funny! Steve, hey!”

The latch releases so suddenly the door almost smacks him in the face.

“Hey, whoa, hey, it’s me,” says Steve gently, holding up his hands as Bucky charges at him.

“What the hell, man!”

“It wasn’t me,” says Steve. He places one hand on Bucky’s shoulder, steadying him, and cups his cheek with the other, forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. “I promise, it wasn’t me,” he says softly.

“Well it was something,” Bucky mutters, embarrassed now that he’s out of the creepy room and the inn is quiet again.

“I know,” says Steve gently. “I felt it: another presence. It fled when I approached.” He looks at Bucky searchingly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” says Bucky, pulling away and heading for the stairs. “Aside from the fact that I have to get rid of two ghosts now, apparently.”

\-----

“Two ghosts?” says Sam. “How did I not know this?”

“No one’s ever been here when I was corporeal before,” says Steve, plucking another ornament from one of the boxes and placing it carefully on the tree. “Not since Howard started closing up during that time, anyway. And it makes sense that anything that happened around the inn the rest of the year would be attributed to me.”

“So now I have to get rid of two ghosts, get the inn appraised, get it on the market, and get it sold, all in just over two weeks,” says Bucky gloomily. “Perfect. And we don’t even know what this other spirit wants.”

“We don’t know what Steve wants, either,” Sam points out. “As long as we’re listing hurdles here.”

“I promise I will dedicate my full attention to figuring this out first thing tomorrow,” says Steve. “But tonight we have a party to host.”

“Technically Natasha is hosting,” says Sam. “We’re just the venue.”

“Regardless.”

“Yeah, gotta impress the sheriff,” Bucky jokes.

“You embarrass me in front of Riley, I’ll let the mean ghost get you both,” warns Sam. “This is the first time we’ve been single at the same time since high school.”

Bucky holds up his hands. “I’m all for romance, man.”

“Really?” says Sam skeptically.

Bucky shrugs. “When it’s happening to other people.”

\-----

The party is a rousing success.

“Looks like everyone’s having a good time,” Bucky says to Natasha as she pours him another whiskey a couple hours in.

“I’m so glad this worked out,” says Natasha. “Thanks for loaning me your boyfriend, by the way.”

Steve’s been helping Natasha tend bar, which initially made Bucky nervous, since he wasn’t sure what Steve might slip-up and say to her that could give him away, but a few drinks later he’s more relaxed about the whole thing.

“I hope he’s been behaving himself,” he says.

“Perfect gentlemen,” says Natasha.

“Where is he, anyway?”

“I made him take a break. I thought he’d go find you.” She frowns.

“Probably in the bathroom,” says Bucky easily, forgetting that Steve doesn’t need to use the bathroom.

“You know, I’ve always loved this place,” says Natasha. “A lot of people around here think it’s haunted, but that’s bullshit.”

“Definitely,” says Bucky emphatically.

“It doesn’t even make sense, really. I mean, it’s not like he was murdered in the house.”

“... murdered?” Steve definitely never mentioned that. When they’d gone over his death, he’d made it sound like an accident.

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know,” says Natasha. “The ghost is supposed to be this guy who owned the place about a hundred years ago. He was found at the edge of the property one Christmas Eve with his head bashed in.”

“...bashed in…?” Bucky’s stomach is roiling. He knew this, mostly, but the way Natasha is describing it makes it all worse, somehow.

“So even if ghosts were real, this one would haunt the woods, right?”

“Uh-huh,” says Bucky faintly.

“Oh hey! Riley!”

Bucky turns to see Sam and Riley approaching the bar. They’re holding hands, but he barely registers this development, too preoccupied by the revelations about Steve’s death.

“I was just telling Bucky about the Bright Star ghost,” Natasha tells her brother. “Riley was obsessed with the legend when we were kids,” she adds to Bucky.

“She trying to make you an unbeliever?” Riley slaps Bucky’s back goodnaturedly. “Don’t listen to her, man. The ghost is real. He wanders the halls mourning his lost love.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Oh, yeah, his fiancée died a few months after he did, right?” says Sam.

“What?” says Riley. “No, who told you that?”

“Ummm…” says Sam awkwardly, but luckily Riley has warmed to the subject and is too enthused to notice.

“No, she lived to be ninety-something. In fact, she was a codebreaker during—”

“What did you say?”

Steve is standing behind them. He’s gone pale.

“Oh, we’re just talking about Margaret Carter,” says Riley, nonchalant and oblivious. “The fiancée of the ghost that haunts this inn.”

“She lived to be ninety? Margaret Carter? You’re sure?”

“I know, crazy, right? I was just telling these guys she was a codebreaker during World War II, and she went on to be the dean of Smith for like thirty-five years or something. I think one of her granddaughters is a department head there now.”

Steve is so white, for the first time he resembles the ghost he actually is.

“I could use some air,” says Bucky, a little too loudly. “Come for a walk with me, _babe_?”

He grabs Steve’s hand and heads straight for the front door without waiting for an answer. Steve allows him to lead him away, unresistant.

“Hey,” says Bucky softly, after they’re a good distance away from the inn. “You okay?”

“Howard told me she was dead.” Steve’s voice is flat.

Bucky bites his lip. He has no idea what to say.

“All these years I blamed myself for not being here when she got sick. For not even getting the chance to apologize. To say goodbye. And she was alive the whole time. Why would he tell me she was dead?”

Bucky shakes his head again, shivering as he does so. They haven’t been out of the house long, but it’s freezing and he didn’t stop to put a coat on. Steve notices and seems to come to himself.

“You should get back inside,” he says. “You don’t even have a coat.”

“I’m fine,” says Bucky, but his chattering teeth give him away. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Actually, I think a little alone time would be good for me,” says Steve.

“Steve—”

“Seriously, Bucky, it’s fine,” says Steve. A corner of his mouth turns up. “What could happen to me? I freeze to death?”

Bucky laughs. Steve ducks his head, smiling too.

“I’ll be in in a bit,” he promises.

Bucky goes reluctantly, leaving Steve staring at the stars.

\-----

Much later, after the final guest has been waved off and even Sam has gone (with Riley), Steve follows Bucky to his room and takes a seat in one of the chairs in the corner as Bucky begins to get ready for bed.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Bucky asks, pausing halfway through the act of removing his shirt as he abruptly thinks better of it and hastily pulling it back on. “Are you okay, man? I know what you learned tonight really—”

“That’s not why I’m here,” says Steve. “It’s clear this other presence is malevolent, particularly against you. As I don’t require sleep, it only makes sense I keep watch here tonight to ensure your safety.” 

“So you’re just gonna stare at me all night while I sleep?” says Bucky. “That’s some seriously creepy Twilight shit, dude.”

“Twilight?” Steve’s confused frown is adorable, which doesn’t help the situation.

“Forget it,” says Bucky. “You can sit outside the door if you’re that worried.”

“It’s not enough,” Steve insists. “Spirits can pass through walls.”

“You can’t.”

“Exactly,” says Steve, as if Bucky’s just proved his point. “I’m corporeal at the moment. Therefore I need to be inside the room if I’m to adequately protect you.”

“I don’t need protection, man,” says Bucky, equal parts rankled and touched. “I told you, I can take care of myself.”

Bucky is sure Steve is going to point out, quite accurately, that little about Bucky’s brief time at Bright Star supports this claim, but to his surprise he seems to soften.

“I have no doubt you can,” he says in a much gentler tone. “But as I’m here, please allow me? For my own peace of mind? Please, Buck,” he adds softly, when Bucky again starts to protest.

It’s the casual use of the nickname that does it.

“Fine,” says Bucky, stubbornly ignoring the warm feeling flooding through him. He’s doing this for Steve, he tells himself. The guy’s been through a lot tonight. “But you’re keeping your back to the bed.”

“Of course,” says Steve gallantly.

Feeling a little ridiculous, Bucky grabs his pajamas and changes in the bathroom, away from Steve’s focused gaze. When he emerges, he finds Steve has already moved the chair to face the door, his back fully to the bed.

“Uh, goodnight,” says Bucky awkwardly as he clambers into bed and hits the light.

“Goodnight, Buck.” He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice.

For a few minutes there’s no sound but their breathing, and isn’t that odd: a ghost who breathes.

Well, a ghost who exists at all. But Steve is unusual even for a spirit. He’s so _alive_.

“I’m sorry about Peggy,” Bucky murmurs into the darkness.

“I’m not,” says Steve softly. “I’m just sorry Howard never told me.”

“That’s what I meant.” He pauses. “What was she like?”

“Brilliant. Beautiful. Strong.” He gives a huff that might be a laugh. “She must have been furious when she found out what I’d done. I don’t regret it. If it meant she got to have as rich and meaningful a life as Riley said, it was worth it. But I wish I’d told her.” A pause, and then he says in a harder voice, “I wish Howard had let me explain it to her.”

“I’m sorry,” says Bucky again, and hates how inadequate the sentiment is. He debates for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry the trust is selling the inn.”

The silence has stretched so long Bucky’s concluded Steve didn’t hear him when Steve says hesitantly, “I, uh, don’t suppose— that is, I don’t imagine there’s any, um— any chance you could buy it?”

Bucky’s breath catches.

“No,” he says softly, hating the answer. “I can’t afford it. I wish I could.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Me too.”

\-----

“So I did a little digging this morning,” says Sam the next day. “At Riley’s,” he adds, unnecessarily.

“Felicitations,” says Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, slow down, no one’s walking down any aisles any time soon,” says Sam, rolling his eyes, but he looks pleased and a little smug. “Anyway, your death certificate says it was an ‘accidental death’, but the autopsy suggests murder. Riley figures with police resources being limited at the time, and in the absence of any obvious suspect, they ruled it an accident to close the case as quickly as possible.”

“And Howard wouldn’t want to pursue it if he suspected it had to do with the rum-running,” says Steve thoughtfully. “Besides, if it had been ruled a murder, Peggy wouldn’t have rested until she found the culprit. He’d have seen it as a necessary lie to protect her.” His face darkens.

“That’s Riley’s theory too,” says Sam.

“Great, so we know who did it and why,” says Bucky. “And yet…” he waves his hand up and down, encompassing Steve’s general existence.

“I told you,” says Steve. “It’s not about unfinished—”

The piercing sound of Bucky’s phone ringing cuts him off. Bucky looks at the screen and suppresses a sigh: it’s Phillips.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this.” He makes his way to the hall, finally answering as he steps onto the front porch and pulls the door shut behind him. “Hey, boss.”

“You get the inn appraised?”

Bucky grimaces. “Not yet.”

“Barnes! What the hell is taking so long? I sent you for an afternoon and you’ve been there a week!”

“Four days.”

“Same thing,” Phillips snaps. “It doesn’t matter. I need you back in the office immediately.”

“But—”

“No _buts_! Charles Xavier finally kicked it, and you can imagine how big of a shitshow untangling _that_ is gonna be. All hands on deck.”

“If I just had a couple more days—”

“This isn’t a negotiation. Get back to the city _now_!”

Bucky starts to protest again, but Phillips has already hung up.

\-----

“I’ll be back before Christmas Eve,” Bucky assures Steve fifteen minutes later, as Steve walks him to his car. “And I’ll keep looking into things when I’m in New York. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about me,” says Steve. “I told you, it’s not about unfinished business. It’s just my life. Death. This.” He shrugs. “I, uh, would like it if you came back before Christmas, though,” he adds, ducking his head.

On impulse, Bucky leans forward and gives Steve a swift kiss on the cheek.

“I promise,” he repeats, before reluctantly climbing into the car for the long drive back to the city.

\-----

“About time,” Phillips snaps when Bucky reports to his office that afternoon. “I hope you’re all rested up from your break.”

“Like I told you on the phone, it wasn’t a break,” says Bucky, fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Really?” says Phillips. “Because you were there for almost a week and you didn’t even accomplish the _one_ thing I sent you to do. So if you weren’t kicking your feet up, what were you doing?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“All right, fine. If you must know, the inn is haunted by a ghost named Steve who comes back to life every year during the twelve days before Christmas, and I was there trying to figure out how to get him at peace so that he’ll stop haunting the inn and I can get it appraised and sold like you asked!”

Phillips just stares at him, stone-faced.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me,” says Bucky, irritated.

“Next time, just admit you were skiing,” says Phillips. He points at a stack of files at the corner of his desk. “I want those finished and back on my desk by 8AM tomorrow morning. Vacation’s over, Barnes.”

\-----

For the next week Phillips keeps Bucky so busy with the Xavier case that he barely has time to even think about Steve and the Bright Star Inn.

“Uh, I think this is for you?”

Bucky looks up from where he’s been contemplating a section of Charles Xavier’s incredibly complicated will and wondering which of his many, many heirs is likely to contest it and if they’ll be willing to settle or if they’ll take it all the way to a courtroom. An intern he barely recognizes is standing in his doorway, holding a medium-sized package.

“Thanks, you can set it here,” says Bucky, clearing a space on one side of his desk. He catches a look at the return address as the intern sets it down and his pulse quickens.

_Finally!_

He pulls out his scissors and neatly slices through the tape sealing the top.

“Barnes!”

The scissors clatter onto the desk as Bucky jolts at the sound.

“Jumpy,” Phillips observes dryly from the doorway. “I just wanted to say, uh, nice job.”

“Thanks,” says Bucky slowly. “For what, exactly?”

“The Stark thing. I just got the quote from the appraiser. The listing goes live in a few hours.”

Bucky gapes at him. “But I didn’t—”

“Look, I know I was hard on you, but thanks for not dropping the ball,” Phillips plows on. “I know it’s been an insane couple of weeks. I guess you earned that vacation after all.”

“It wasn’t a vacation.”

“Take the win, Barnes,” says Phillips briskly. “I’ll see you at the party tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re having the Christmas Eve party.” Phillips’ tone implies Bucky is being purposefully dense. “And you know what that means: free booze! We’ve earned ’em. _You’ve_ earned ’em.”

“I appreciate that,” says Bucky. “But I actually have somewhere else I need to be.”

\-----

“You came back.” Steve sounds half surprised, half touched.

“I promised I would.”

They embrace briefly, hampered a bit by the box under Bucky’s arm.

“Were you the one who got the inn appraised?” Bucky asks when they separate. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“It was what you wanted.” Steve’s gaze is so intense, Bucky has to look away.

“I have something for you,” he says to a spot over Steve’s left shoulder. “Come here.”

He takes them into the kitchen and deposits the box on the breakfast table. When they’re both seated he says, “I received this yesterday from Dr. Carter-Sousa. Dr. _Stephanie_ Carter-Sousa. Daughter of Steven Carter-Sousa, and granddaughter of—”

“Peggy,” Steve breathes. “She— she named her son after me?”

Bucky nods. He reaches into the box and pulls out the leather-bound book inside. He opens it to the marked page and places it in front of Steve.

“I think you should read this,” he says softly.

Steve’s face ripples with a myriad of emotions as his eyes scan the pages. When he reaches the end, there are tears in his eyes. Bucky reaches out under the table and takes his hand.

“She didn’t hate you,” he says softly.

“And she was happy.” Steve’s voice breaks, but he’s smiling a little too.

“She was.”

“Bucky? Is that your car out there taking up two spots?”

At the sound of Sam’s voice in the hall, Bucky starts to pull away from Steve, but Steve’s hand just tightens around his.

“Hey, you’re both back!” says Riley enthusiastically as he, Sam, and Natasha crowd into the kitchen.

“Glad you made it,” Sam says, looking right at Bucky.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” says Bucky.

“And not a moment too soon,” says Natasha. “You can arrange the tables with Sam and Riley. And you,” she adds, pointing at Steve, “can help me set up the bar.”

Steve gives Bucky a small smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and with one last squeeze of Bucky’s hand, he gets to his feet and follows her.

\-----

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door just before eight.

“Wow,” he says when he opens it and sees Steve dressed in full white tie. “I feel very underdressed now.”

“And I feel very overdressed,” says Steve. “You look amazing.”

Bucky ducks his head to hide his blush, fiddling with the cuff of his sport coat.

“I’m sorry I failed you,” he tells the floor.

“What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to help you find peace—”

“You did.” Steve takes Bucky’s face in his hands. “Bucky, you _did_. You found out about Peggy for me. You brought Christmas back to the inn.”

“But you’re still here.”

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Steve whispers, and then he kisses him.

For a moment Bucky freezes, stunned. Then Steve starts to pull away and he comes to himself, ducking forward the chase the kiss, arms falling around Steve’s waist to pull him closer as he opens up to him.

Steve pulls away slowly and far too soon for Bucky’s liking.

“We should get downstairs,” he murmurs. “Natasha’s waiting.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, reluctantly disentangling himself. “Right.”

\-----

“Dance with me?” Natasha says. It’s more a demand than a request.

“Of course,” says Bucky, relieved. Sam and Riley have been dancing together for the past three songs, and Steve has been tending bar, so Bucky’s been stuck making small talk with various strangers, all of whom have either interrogated him about the future of the inn (which he doesn’t know), or tried to get him to tell them what’s going on between Sam and Riley (which he doesn’t feel comfortable divulging, even if he thinks it’s pretty obvious), or both.

It’s a jazzy number and it’s fun letting loose with Natasha. He catches Steve’s eye over her head and grins. Steve smiles softly and lifts his hand in a wave—

but aborts the move, the smile abruptly dropping from his face. He leaves the bar, squeezes past several people, and exits the room.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky tells Natasha, and goes after him. He finds Steve in the entrance hall, staring up the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Howard. He’s here.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Come on.”

Bucky follows him upstairs. As they start down the hall, a shadowy figure steps out of the room at the very end.

“Howard, I know that’s you,” says Steve softly. “And I know what you did.”

The figure moves forward, features sharpening.

“You got old.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised.

The old man in the shadows looks wretched. “You didn’t.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” says Steve.

“I got us mixed up with Zola—”

“But I chose to go see him,” says Steve. “Is that why you stopped coming here? Guilt?”

Howard gives one curt nod.

“Is that why you lied about Peggy?” Steve’s voice drops to a whisper.

“I knew you’d want to see her,” says Howard. “And I was afraid if you did, she’d figure out it was a murder and go after Zola and his gang. I wanted to protect her!”

“Her or you?”

“Both! I didn’t want her to do something that would come back on me. And not just me, but Maria and the baby too.”

“Antonia,” says Steve softly.

“I did what I had to do,” says Howard, his voice pleading. “You have to see that.”

“Do you?” says Steve. “Howard, don’t you see your guilt is keeping you here? It’s trapped you with me all these years.”

“I did what I had to do,” Howard repeats.

Steve steps forward and puts a hand on Howard’s shoulder.

“I know,” he says. “And I forgive you. You can move on.”

Howard reaches up and locks his hand around Steve’s where it rests on his shoulder. For a moment they just stare at each other. Then with a small nod, Howard squeezes Steve’s hand and steps away, out of his reach. A light floods out of the door at the end of the hall. Howard turns and steps through it.

Then he’s gone, and Steve and Bucky are alone in the shadowy hall.

\-----

They wave the last of the guests off a few minutes before midnight. Bucky turns to Steve as Sam’s tail lights disappear.

“You’re still here,” he says softly. “I thought for sure when Howard…”

Steve shakes his head.

“I know I should be sorry,” says Bucky. “But I’m actually… relieved. I know we only have a few minutes left now, but knowing you’ll be back next December…”

“I hope by next December you have a boyfriend who’s corporeal more than twelve days a year,” says Steve lightly.

“I don’t want that,” says Bucky. “Not if he’s not you.”

Steve shakes his head again. “Bucky, that—”

But Bucky surges forward and cuts him off with a kiss, soft and warm and more than a little desperate.

The clock in the hall starts to chime.

\-----

He wakes in his bed the next morning without knowing how he got there. He touches his bottom lip softly.

_Steve…_

A pang goes through him as he remembers: Steve is gone. He won’t be back for another year. He might not be back ever again.

He’s not sure which possibility hurts more.

Sam shows up as Bucky is washing up after breakfast.

“You disinviting me to dinner tonight?” Bucky jokes.

“I wanted to check on you,” says Sam seriously. “And see if… you know.”

Bucky shrugs helplessly. “I honestly don’t know. I think he might have moved on. I— I hope he did.”

“Me too,” says Sam. “For his sake, of course. But also because I don’t want to be the owner of a haunted inn.”

Bucky drops the pan he’s drying.

“You bought the inn?”

Sam grins. “Well, me and a couple partners.”

“Natasha and Riley?” Bucky guesses. “That’s great, man. I’m really happy for you. And not just because it sold before the new year.”

“And you’re welcome here any time,” says Sam. “Free of charge.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back next December, I think,” says Bucky.

Sam nods. “Sounds like a plan.” He claps Bucky’s shoulder, then reaches over and picks up one of the trash bags from the party clean up. “Come on, I’ll help you take these out before I go.”

As they come back around the house, Bucky spots a figure at the edge of the woods.

“Is that…” says Sam slowly.

“It can’t be…” Bucky breathes, but he’s already striding down the path.

By the time he’s halfway there, there’s no question, and he quickens his pace until it’s just short of a run.

Steve’s smile is dazzling but he doesn’t move, and when Bucky gets to the fence, he understands why.

“You’re here,” he gasps, goggling at Steve standing solid and real on the _other_ side of the gap in the fence. “And you’re outside the property line. How?”

“I don’t know,” says Steve. He steps forward and takes Bucky in his arms. “Call it a Christmas miracle.”

Bucky leans into him. He’s warm and steady and so very much alive.

“But how?” he can’t stop himself from asking. “Does this mean you’re back for good now? Resurrected? Are you—”

“Buck, I don’t know,” Steve repeats, laughing. “All I know is I’ve been given an extra day. And I’ll take as many extra days as I can get. With you, if you’ll have me.”

Bucky pulls back enough to turn his head and capture Steve’s mouth with his own. He still has a million questions, but he closes his eyes and lets the feeling of Steve’s lips on his drown them out.

He’ll take the win.


End file.
